


Night Journey

by Hyarrowen



Category: Murder Rooms: The Dark Beginnings of Sherlock Holmes
Genre: Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 10:56:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16324931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyarrowen/pseuds/Hyarrowen
Summary: A couple of hours' respite amidst the mayhem of "The Kingdom of Bones".





	Night Journey

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plumedy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plumedy/gifts).



> For plumedy, with grateful thanks for reminding me just how good this series is!  
> Thanks also for the beta, and to theficklepickle for technical details.

Doyle was doing his level best not to slide off the circus pony. The ride to the railway line, a mile at most, was a trial; the motion exacerbated the ache in his head and added a roiling in his stomach. Fire, capture, escape and flight, all in one night, had taken their toll on him. For the last ten minutes he had kept his seat only by fixing his eyes on the ineluctably upright figure of Dr Bell, just in front of him, sitting his pony with the same elegant ease with which he did most things. The fact that this pony was a pretty little grey mare, with flowing mane and tail, only added to the incongruous nature of their ride.

Doyle’s own pony was altogether sturdier, and glossy chestnut; he and the Inspector had been allotted two of the strongest animals in the troupe. A police constable had been dispatched to the signal-box. Bell, surveying his little mare, had remarked that a lady’s horse would no doubt be well suited to his advanced years.

“She’s as smooth a ride as anyone could wish for, Doctor, and clever,” said Mr Walker, grinning. “Just be thankful she isn’t an elephant.”  
The elephants were chained, each by one foot, to the larger of the trees in the clearing. One of them rumbled, as if in agreement. Doyle looked down to hide an answering grin; Bell glanced at him with equally well-hidden amusement before mounting up.

The three riders wound their way through the spring woodland. Flowers were beginning to show; the birds were all singing. The cool, fresh air of a sunny afternoon washed Doyle about, and kept him from collapse. He half-wished for the Doctor’s smooth-paced little mount, but knew he would be far too heavy for her. 

It wasn’t far now. There was the railway line ahead, and the signal box at the entrance to the cutting. The signal was up. “Stop. Here. Now,” it said. The police constable had got to the signalman in time.

Inspector Warner, leading the procession, took them down the slope towards the line, but not directly towards the signal. Four hundred yards was needed to stop the train. They were heading for the further end of the cutting, and not before time; Doyle could hear the train, the express to London, racing up from the West Country. Smoke rose above the spring woodlands, marking its swift progress - but now the brakes slammed on. Bell turned in his saddle, and gave Doyle a single, satisfied nod. Doyle nodded back, and managed a wan smile. The little cavalcade reached the line, the Inspector drew rein and halted his pony foursquare on the ballast, waiting.

Bell, bringing his mount to stand next to Doyle’s, murmured, “The signal hardly seems necessary.”

“Indeed,” said Doyle, through his increasing discomfort. “The Inspector is quite capable of stopping a train single-handed if need be.”

Warner cast them a glance that told them what he thought of their levity. As the train appeared, slowing right down as it came out of the cutting, he dismounted and tossed his reins to Bell, who caught them adroitly. The train halted, breathing hot steam, and Warner climbed into the cab to speak to the driver and fireman. A minute later, he climbed down again.

“You’re to get aboard, gentlemen, and quickly. First class, you’ll be happy to know,” he added, with a sly grin.

“I’m glad to hear it!” said Doyle, and it was the simple truth.

“So am I,” said Bell.

It was a hard climb up from the ballast into the carriage. To make matters worse there were people watching from the windows, and talking, and wanting to know what was the meaning of this… The train conductor shouldered his way through them all, and spoke briefly with the Inspector and the uniformed constable, who by now had cantered up from the signal-box. Doyle, meanwhile, managed to haul himself up into the first-class carriage. He turned to assist Bell, who of course gave no sign of wishing for help, but passed up his silver-topped cane, which he had somehow managed to hold on to throughout the wild events of the night.

“If you’ll come this way, gentlemen, we have a compartment that’s empty,” said the conductor. He led them a little way down the corridor, and opened a compartment door. Doyle, going in, glanced back through the window. The two policemen, both mounted and leading the spare ponies, were by the cab, and the inspector was talking to the driver. Then the riders swung off the line and back into the woods. There was a burst of steam, the train began to move, and he lost sight of their companions. 

“I’ll fetch you some tea, gentlemen,” said the conductor. “It’s about ready to be served.” He pulled the blinds, with their “Do Not Disturb” sign, down on their compartment’s corridor windows before disappearing. 

Blessed privacy. Doyle slumped down in one of the window-seats; Bell took the other. “Tea. And a first-class compartment,” said Doyle. “I’ve never travelled in such style before.”

“The Inspector’s a highly persuasive man,” remarked Bell. “I doubt the Great Western’s employees had any choice at all in the matter. And you, my boy, look as though you’re in dire need of tea.”

The tea, when it came, was excellent - strong and sweet. There were scones as well, with clotted cream. Doyle blinked at these, but devoured them, his appetite returning with a rush.

“That’s better,” said Bell. “You looked distinctly peaky for a while. Tell me what happened again.”

And Doyle told him, while the landscape outside the window darkened in the swift spring dusk, the light failing behind them and the night deepening ahead. “I’ve no idea where to start looking for the third bomb,” said Doyle, as he finished the last of his tea.

“Nor have I,” said Bell. “But we have a couple of hours before we need start the search, and Warner will have telegraphed ahead. The Metropolitan Police will be ready for us.”

“I hope so,” said Doyle, and yawned suddenly.

“Put your feet up, lad. Get some rest. You’ll need it tonight.”

Doyle protested, for form’s sake, but Bell insisted. “Get your head down, now. Go on. I’ll stay awake, and think. I had an easier night of it than you.”

It was like arguing with Edinburgh Castle. Doyle sighed, shifted to an inner seat and removed his shoes. He pulled out the seat-flaps so he could lie down, glad enough in truth to be resting. It was almost full dark by now, as they roared on towards London, sparks flying past the window. The rocking of the train lulled him, and he drifted off. 

But he half-woke once, and saw Bell sitting unmoving at the window, his lined face illumined by the lights of the station they had stopped at, his hands crossed on the head of his cane. He looked very much like a knight on vigil, with sword drawn and ready. “If any one man can save London, it’s this one,” thought Doyle, and went back to sleep, immensely comforted, and somehow almost happy.


End file.
